


The Purge of Innocence

by Husaria



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Nostalgia, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:22:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Husaria/pseuds/Husaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As nations have done then and now, the loser of a war must temporarily kill the victor as a catharsis. Lithuania must do the same to Poland and come to terms with his clashing emotions at the end of the Polish-Lithuanian War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purge of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> [De-Anon from Kink Meme](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21382.html?thread=89034630)

He stands there and waits, his eyes gazing out towards the direction of his city, many miles away. _His_ city, not Poland’s, and not Poland, not the League of Nations will tell him otherwise. Vilnius is his, and even though the outcome of this war might be in Poland’s favor, Lithuania knows that this land belongs to him. He can feel the city’s pulse in his veins, the streets pumping his heart. Poland cannot feel any of this. How can he? Poland is dead to him now. 

_“Litwo.”_

He turns. Across the golden sea of rye, Poland stands. The smallest bit of a smirk plays on his face. Lithuania wants to break his jaw so that he can’t smirk anymore.

_“Lenkija.”_

Lithuania takes long, slow strides towards him, pushing away the long stalks. His heart flutters, and this isn’t just an after effect of the war. A sick and twist desire takes hold. Where shall he start? His jaw, his nose, maybe an eyeball.

_Mano Dievas, Lietuva. What has gotten into you?_

123 years of Russia. That’s what.

Poland sighs. “Alright, Litwo, you know what to do,” he says smoothly. That stupid smirk is still on his face, and a conceited glint shines in his eyes.

His hand already clenches into a fist. He almost walks past him, and the idea enters his head that Poland thinks he’ll go easy on him. He almost laughs at the thought.

A breath of wind whistles, and the rye sways.

“Oh, I know what to do, Lenkija,” he whispers. He watches Poland out of the corner of his eye, and the Pole watches him back. A knife is all he needs for this, just a single knife. It’s a rather blunt instrument, and its one that he hasn’t used in a while. Its perfect.

“This is an ironic place to do this,” Poland remarks. “I, like, remember everything that happened here. Don’t you?”

Oh yes, Lithuania remembers. He remembers everything. When they were young and innocent, the rye fields were a place of friendship and joy. And blood. They took the others virginity in these fields under a bright blue sky.

 _“Well?”_ Poland snarls. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to do something, _Liet_?”

Lithuania hits him.

The force of the punch sends Poland backwards, sprawling onto the dirt. Lithuania quickly holds him down, his knees down on him, the knife at his pale throat, the hand on his heart.

 _“How dare you?”_ Lithuania growls. “After all you have done to me, you have absolutely no right to call me that.”

The Pole spits out a tooth, a trail of spittle and blood running down his chin. He looks surprisingly nonchalant and _bored_. “Like it matters anymore. I own Wilno now, Liet. The city is mine.”

Lithuania smacks him once, twice with an audible _crack_.

“You know the proper name, Lenkija. I’ve heard you say it.”

Blood streams from Poland’s broken nose. His eyes widen at this and he gasps as the red flows into his mouth.

Lithuania rips open his shirt and slowly traces his knife over his chest. Despite his calm demeanor, Lithuania can feel the pumps of his heart vibrating his knife, slightly jerking the blade with each beat.

The wind rustles the rye, and Lithuania’s mind is suddenly transported to an earlier time of tinkling laughter and sweet, gentle kisses. Why is he doing this? Poland was his everything.

He looks into Poland’s green eyes and sees the malice and loathing in them and fixes his resolve.

“Lenkija, I just want to ask _why_?” He pushes his knife deeper, but making sure to not tear the skin.

Nothing is said between them for a few moments. The only sound heard is the sound of the rye.

“Y-You know that Wilno is a Polish city,” Poland says, his voice beginning to shake. “By cultural and historical rights, Wilno is mine.”

 _“You liar.”_ Lithuania cuts a line across his chest.

Poland gasps sharply as the blood wells up. The disinterest in his eyes is replaced with fright.

_“L-Lietuva?”_

“You have no idea what its like to have your heart ripped out from you.” Lithuania grips the hilt with both hands and presses down, the blade striking a rib.

The Pole underneath him lets out a high-pitched half-scream and writhes in pain, his smug and nonchalant façade slipping.

“Liet! L-Liet, don’t you remember?” Poland gasps and wheezes. “Here. D-Do you remember when you asked me to...?”

“Stop it!” Lithuania’s eyes grow hot with tears. “The Commonwealth is _dead_ , Lenkija!” he screams. “It’s _dead_. It’s been dead for 125 years. I’m independent now. I don’t need you. I don’t need _anyone_ now.”

It goes surprisingly fast from there.

 _“How could you?”_ He stabs lower. The knife doesn’t strike a rib this time, but Lithuania is sure that he punctured a lung. “You were my friend.”

Poland pants and gasps, panicking as he instinctively tries to scrabble away. “L-Litwo! Lietuva!”

Lithuania sinks his knife in deeper. Poland makes a gruesome gurgling sound in his throat and coughs horribly and blood suddenly sprays from his lips.

“You were my partner, Lenkija!” Lithuania’s voice rises to a yell. “You were my friend. You were my everything. _I loved you_!”

He raises his knife over Poland’s heart and stabs.

Poland screams, and now he is flailing, trying anything to get Lithuania and the pain away from him. His resistance causes a thrill to run through Lithuania, and he just keeps stabbing and stabbing. He just stabs, and each one hurts his heart as much as Poland’s.

“HOW COULD YOU?” he shrieks loud enough so that Poland’s own screams are muted. “How could you, you bastard?” Drops of blood fling everywhere—on Lithuania’s face, his clothes, Poland’s body, stalks of rye.

 _“I loved you, Poland.”_ Poland horrified screams satisfy and terrify him at the same time.

 _“AŠ TAVE MYLĖJAU.”_ And as Lithuania stabs down one final time, he feels like a knight and a beast.

Tears stream down Lithuania’s cheeks and some fall into Poland’s wounds. Poland has stopped flailing and screaming; he’s sobbing and gasping and coughing up blood, at least six different punctures wounds bleeding on his chest. Lithuania can’t do it anymore. He can’t. He isn’t the one being hurt, but there’s now a hole where his heart should be.

Poland is a mess. His chest and clothes are splattered in gore, his lips are as red as cherries, and his hair is caked with blood and dirt. He takes short, shallow breaths, and retching and heaving accompany every other gasp. Blood freely seeps into the surrounding dirt.

“L-Liet…”

He emits a weak sob, and there are tear marks running down the side of his head that Lithuania hasn’t seen before.

Lithuania throws the fucking knife to the side and puts his head in his soiled hands and cries. He cries for this stupid war, he cries for having to kill Poland, and he cries for becoming so damn attached to him in the first place. A crazy thought runs through his head that maybe he should stab himself too.

_Dieve, atleisk man..._

“...L-Liet?”

Poland’s voice is deathly quiet. Barely above a whisper. There is no way that Lithuania could look at him. Not like this.

“L-Liet...”

Poland's entire body heaves and shakes and gushes out red from each wound. He pitifully half-sobs, half-retches and looks up at Lithuania with tearful eyes. “L-Liet…” He coughs and more blood spills over his lips. “L-Lietuva...” Poland hiccups, and blood continues to flow over his chin. His mouth moves and struggles to say any more words, but Lithuania exactly knows for what he’s asking.

The former great and powerful Poland’s current state tears at him— _his best friend, his partner, his lover_. Lithuania’s shoulders wrack with sobs, and he has to take control of himself before he can speak. His vision is blurred and hot tears run down his cheeks.

“L-L-Lenkija.” Lithuania sniffs and wipes his eyes with a clean part of his shirt. “Please. I-I-I can’t.”

_“P-P-Proszę—!”_

He takes the knife, now covered in blood and dirt and grime, and stabs it deep into Poland’s throat and removes it, the blood falling over his neck like a grisly curtain.

The light quickly spirits out of Poland’s green eyes. Lithuania’s knife drops to the sodden earth and his earlier sobs turn into full-fledged weeping and his mind just tries to wrap around what he’s just done, his tears dripping onto Poland’s body. With a trembling hand, he closes Poland’s eyes, and Lithuania honestly believes he has lost his last shred of sanity. He bunches the Pole’s shirt together as best as could and smooths out the damp fabric. Poland would be angry if his clothes aren’t somewhat orderly when he wakes up.

“Good-bye, Polsko,” Lithuania whispers. He gets to his feet; Poland’s broken and torn body is sprawled out like an eagle—or a phoenix waiting to be resurrected. Lithuania turns his back against his former friend and partner. He heads back through the rye under a bright blue sky, hearing innocent laughter and feeling soft kisses on the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> The Polish-Lithuanian War took place between spring 1919-November 1920 according to Lithuanian historians, or between September 1920-October 1920 according to Polish historians. Believe what you want, but in the end, Poland took control of the Suwałki and Vilnius regions. Vilnius was of particular importance to Lithuanians because the city had been their historical capital during the Grand Duchy. Poland took claim to the area because Poles were the majority living in the region. As a result, the war was fought and Poland ended up taking Vilnius.
> 
> Litwo (Litwa) = “Lithuania” – Polish (vocative tense)  
> Lenkija = “Poland” – Lithuanian  
> Wilno = “Vilnius” – Polish - what the province was called while under Polish rule  
> Mano Dievas, Lietuva = “My God, Lithuania” – Lithuanian  
> Aš tave mylėjau. = “I loved you.” – Lithuanian  
> Dieve, atleisk man. = “God, forgive me.” – Lithuanian  
> Proszę = “Please” – Polish  
> Polsko (Polska) = “Poland” – Poland (vocative tense)


End file.
